


One Winter's Evening

by LuxKen27



Series: By Request [5]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: F/M, MiroSanta 2009, Post-Canon, Reunion Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxKen27/pseuds/LuxKen27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miroku & Sango reconnect after an arduous journey separates them – one that tests the strength of his will, and her faith in herself and her choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Winter's Evening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScribeFigaro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeFigaro/gifts).



> _Author’s Note_ : Written for Scribe Figaro, who requested “canon universe + romance or drama + prompts: shelter, fire, ice, now” during the MiroSanta 2009 giftfic exchange.
> 
>  _Disclaimer_ : The Inuyasha concept, storyline, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media.

~*~

_All because of you_  
_I believe in angels_  
_Not the kind with wings_  
_No, not the kind with halos_  
_The kind that bring you home_  
_When home becomes a strange place_  
_I’ll follow your voice_  
_All you have to do is shout it out_

“[The Good Left Undone](https://youtu.be/70hIRnj9kf8)” © 2007 Tim McIlrath [Rise Against]

~*~

Miroku was cold. Very, very cold.

“Come on, monk,” Inuyasha grunted, shaking his shoulder in a vain attempt to rouse him. “It’s not that far now.”

Miroku groaned in response, a long, deep, jagged breath pulled from his chest. His body felt like lead, weighted to the floor of the ramshackle hut, coursing with ice and sticky, feverish heat. His left ankle in particular burned, throbbing almost to the point of numbness.

And all he wanted to do was sleep.

“Keh,” Inuyasha groused, squatting beside his long-time friend and reaching for one of his arms. “One way or another, we’re leaving this place _right now_ , bouzo. You know Sango will kill us both if we don’t return in one piece.”

 _Sango…_ The mention of his wife’s name elicited another unintelligible groan from the monk, but he felt his conscious mind tugging against the seductive, dangerous pull of slumber. _Sango…I want you…_

He felt himself being lifted, awkwardly, then resting against his hanyou companion’s back, much like Kagome-sama had been carried, when she was still with them. A vision of the strangely-clad schoolgirl drifted into Miroku’s mind, and he clasped his hands around Inuyasha’s neck as she used to. That was enough to spur his friend into action. Coiling his body low to the ground as he tightened his grip on Miroku’s legs, Inuyasha leapt, tearing out of the temporary shelter and into the blustery, snowy blizzard that had been the cause of all their troubles.

It had all started out so ordinarily – they had picked up a youkai extermination job a few villages over, grateful for the chance to secure more money and/or supplies before the onset of winter. He had a house to furnish, after all, not to mention a pregnant wife to provide for, and Inuyasha…

Inuyasha needed something to take his mind off losing Kagome in the wake of Naraku’s demise.

Neither one had anticipated the blizzard that had blown up during their journey home; though each of them was dressed and equipped to travel in the colder weather, the snow came so fast and hard that the world was soon coated in a blindingly white blanket. That had slowed their travel considerably; the situation had only been made worse when Miroku had stumbled over some unknown obstacle, hitting the icy, hard ground with a sickening _thud_ , his ankle bent the wrong way.

Ever since, he’d been fighting to stay awake and intact.

Miroku struggled during the renewed journey, his hands quickly turning to ice as they plowed through the storm, his ankle throbbing with renewed pain every time Inuyasha hit the ground, his grip on his friend’s suikan slipping against the slickness of the melting snow and wind. He could feel the exhaustion creeping over his body once more, and once more he was tempted to give in, to lose consciousness, to escape from the aches and pains of his body…

“Almost…there…” Inuyasha grunted, his voice lost to the howling winds as he tucked his chin into his chest and braced his shoulders. “We’re…almost…home.”

 _Home_ , Miroku thought groggily. _Sango_.

In the space of a breath, they were out of the storm, the air around them quiet and still and warm, save the far-off clattering of a door covering. Miroku cracked open his eyes, frowning as he attempted to focus his filmy vision on the dancing flames of a small, nearby fire. Before he realized it, he was laying on the floor again, this time on a makeshift pallet, with something soft cradling his head.

“Miroku! Inuyasha!” Sango’s voice sliced through the air and he felt her coming closer, sinking to her knees beside him. Warm fingers touched his face, brushing through the hair at his brow. “What happened?”

“The storm snuck up on us,” was Inuyasha’s simple reply. The hanyou’s voice sounded as if it was traveling through a long, narrow tunnel before meeting Miroku’s ears, but he found he couldn’t concentrate on his friend’s words when he felt his wife’s hands on his clothes, quickly untying bows and knots and braids and yanking the heavy, wet robes away from his body.

“You’re good at this,” Inuyasha observed after a moment.

Miroku could practically feel his wife’s angry flush. “Shut up and help me,” she grumbled, shoving a wet garment in his hands. “We have to get him out of these wet clothes before he falls ill.”

 _Sango_ , he wanted to assure her, _I’ll be all right. I’m with you now, and that’s all that matters._ But his mouth wouldn’t follow his brain’s commands; he could only lay there, his chest steadily rising and falling with each breath as more and more of his skin was exposed to the warmth of the cozy hut. Layer after layer of clothing was removed, until he was down to his hadagi and fundoushi; out of respect for his modesty (or, more likely, hers), Sango pulled a heavy blanket over him then, rubbing his arms and torso gently to generate body heat. 

The voices of his companions blended together as soothing warmth curled through his body, courtesy of his wife’s tender ministrations. Content in the knowledge that he was safe, warm, and dry, Miroku surrendered to the demands of sleep, willing himself beyond the pain of his still-throbbing ankle.

~*~

He awoke sometime later, feeling somewhat refreshed and rejuvenated. He yawned and stretched, feeling mildly surprised when his arm brushed across the empty blanket beside him. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness, and glanced about, tilting his head toward the still-glowing fire at his right.

Beside it sat Sango, her eyes trained to the center of the pit as she poked at the embers. She was silent and still, a familiar pink and white kosode tied loosely over her undergarments, her free hand resting absently against her growing midsection. Her silky brown hair was loose, cascading down her back, the reddish highlights picked up in the golden shadows of the fire. He’d always admired her hair, and loved running his fingers through it at night, so soft and thick and warm…it was almost as enjoyable to caress as her backside, though if given the choice, he preferred the feel of flesh against his palm.

He sat up, flinching as a sharp needle of pain bolted through his ankle. Sango turned at the sudden sound, her eyes widening as she studied him. “You’re awake,” she noted, a hint of surprise in her voice.

“And you’re so far away,” he murmured in response, his right hand flexing instinctively as he caught sight of the outline of her breast in the firelight. It had taken some getting used to, feeling the sensation of skin against skin on that hand, after years spent covering a curse with a ring and a glove.

She gave him a weak smile in return, turning back to face the fire, folding her arms across her lap.

Miroku frowned, pushing away the blanket that covered him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, breaking the patch of silence that stretched between them.

“Nothing,” Sango assured him, another smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes accompanying her answer. After a beat, her expression fell. “Everything.”

“Sango,” he began, “you know I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen – ”

“It’s not that,” she cut in, smoothing her hands over the bump of her stomach. Kaede had estimated she was about five months along, and only now was she beginning to show. Sango had not taken to pregnancy well, finding herself violently ill for the first month or so, though those symptoms seemed to have subsided of late. Her reactions to the changes in her body meant she could no longer accompany Miroku and Inuyasha on the youkai exterminations, and that had thrown her for a loop as well, as she didn’t know what to do with herself anymore. She had been raised as a warrior, but now she was a housewife, with no family or close friends nearby.

“Then what?” Miroku phrased his probe carefully as he shifted onto his knees, determined to close the gap of space that currently divided them, injured ankle or no.

“I was worried about you, when you didn’t return when you said you would,” she finally admitted, a guilty flush burnishing her cheeks. “If I had been with you – ”

“ – I would have been worried about _you_ ,” Miroku broke in. He’d made it to her side by then, sitting once more and sweeping his arms around her shoulders, bringing her back against his chest. “It was a freak storm. It’s better that you were here – safe and warm and dry.”

She exhaled sharply, squeezing her eyes shut. “I feel useless, just sitting here,” she said softly. “I was trained as an elite taijiya when I was a child. I don’t know anything about cooking or cleaning or sewing, or any of the other ‘womanly arts,’ and I just wonder…” She paused, resting her hands on her belly and taking a deep breath. “…I just wonder what’s going to happen after I have this baby.”

Miroku pressed a light kiss to her forehead, his hands joining hers at her waist. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother,” he assured her. “I can feel it in my bones.”

She glanced back at him, her eyes filled with conflicting emotions. “But what if I want to be more than just a mother?” she asked. “What if I want to go back to fighting youkai?”

Miroku considered her question, studying her with an assessing expression. “What if you don’t?” he mused aloud, withholding judgment. “Do you think that only being a mother will make you somehow less than what you were before?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Being a taijiya is what I know – that’s the lifestyle I’m comfortable with. I hate sitting idly by while you’re out with Inuyasha, doing what I was trained my whole life to do.” Her eyes fell.

Miroku quirked a brow even as he tightened his embrace. “Do you resent me for that?”

She shook her head. “I only resent that I can’t be _with_ you.” She sighed. “Right now, I feel like a great big burden on everyone, Kaede especially. My clothes don’t fit right anymore, and I burn anything I try to cook, and I’ve had fits of wanting to clean and reorganize the house, but I’ve become such a klutz that she’s always coming to my rescue, if you’re away.” 

“You’re nobody’s burden, least of all mine,” he reassured her, smoothing one hand over her midsection before bringing it up to cup one of her breasts. “In fact, I quite like some of these changes you’ve experienced lately.”

Sango snorted. “You would, you lech,” she teased, shifting around to face him. He felt her smile as their lips met, until he pressed forward, beyond, slanting his mouth over hers to deepen the kiss. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he slipped his hand inside the loosened kosode, his thumb brushing against her nipple through the thin cotton of her chemise.

She broke away from the kiss, gasping sharply in response to the caress. Miroku took the opportunity to press tiny kisses along the line of her jaw, working his way over to her ear. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. Without waiting for a response, he continued, nipping at her earlobe. “I love you for waiting for me, for taking care of me, for being everything I ever wanted – and more.” He kissed her neck, laving his tongue over her pulse point. “I love you for agreeing to bear my child, and for being the most beautiful mother-to-be I’ve ever seen.”

She shuddered, sighed, and relaxed into his embrace, taking the sweet vows as the gentle reassurances he intended. Ever since they had started living together, he had continually gone to great lengths to show her just what she meant to him, just how much she’d changed his life. She had always been special to him, but now that his familial curse had been lifted – now that they were both out from under the specter of Naraku – finally, he felt worthy of her.

Once upon a time, she had given him a reason to live. Now it was time to repay that love in spades.

His mouth found hers again as he eased back, bringing her to lie atop him when his back met the fire-warmed floor of the hut. For the moment, he concentrated on kissing her; he loved the way her mouth felt on his, her lips full and soft and inviting. He swept a hand behind her neck, his fingers splaying into her glossy hair, bringing it down over her shoulders like a curtain.

Eventually her mouth strayed from his, trailing down the column of his throat, across his collarbone, as diligent fingers worked to free the knot of the obi that held his undergarments in place. He preened under her attentions, taking the opportunity to push the kosode from her shoulders before opening the ties of her chemise and lifting that fabric away as well. She sat up slightly to allow the clothes to fall away, and he marveled at his good fortune – and good view.

He stayed her before she could lay back down, his hands drifting up to touch her breasts. They had filled out as she moved further along into her pregnancy, growing large enough to fit into his hand perfectly, the skin smooth and soft and a completely different texture from that which covered the rest of her body. He was especially gentle in his caresses, his fingers stroking over the fullness of each, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples until they formed dusky little nubs. Even the lightest touch elicited a sigh or moan of pleasure, so he walked the razor’s edge, not wanting to become so eager as to cause her pain.

Gently, he directed her forward once more, helping her adjust her position so that he might take one of the luscious peaks into his mouth, finishing the job of his fingers with his tongue instead. She shuddered against him as he suckled and licked and teased, her breath sharp in her chest, the sensation sending ripples of pleasure coursing down his spine. He raked his nails down her back as he moved to the other breast, and he felt her respond, rocking her hips against his lower abdomen. He continued his caresses, encouraging her, pulling at the last bits of her clothing, needing to feel the exquisite heat of bare skin against bare skin.

He could sense she was losing her grip on control by the way she opened her knees wider and pressed against him more insistently, so he wasn’t so much surprised as a bit disappointed that she pulled away from his teasing mouth, pressing a hand to her throat as she fought to catch her breath.

“You’re – injured,” she finally managed. Her free hand slipped down to support her belly. “I don’t want to hurt you and only make it worse.”

Miroku chuckled. “You won’t break me,” he replied with a lazy grin. His eyes took an appreciative stroll down the length of her nearly-naked body. “Besides, I can think of plenty of ways to keep my mind off the throbbing pain of my ankle.” A hint of surprise lifted his brows as he saw the fingers of the hand under her stomach inching toward the curls that shielded her most intimately. _Like this, for instance,_ he added silently. 

She shifted her weight to rest just above his hips, the hand at her throat falling to her chest as she dipped a finger inside herself, stroking languidly. He cut his eyes upward, only to see her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She curled her other hand over her breasts, supporting their weight with her arm, which only lead his eyes lower, back to the stroking hand, which was slowly but steadily picking up speed.

His hands itched to join the party – as did other engorged parts of his body – but for the moment, he could only stare, transfixed, as his wife pleasured herself, the spreading scent of her arousal almost intoxicating him.

“This is what you do when I’m away?” he murmured.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, dropping the hand fondling her breasts to find one of his. “You’re better at it, though.”

He needed no further invitation than that, only too happy to brush away her hand and replace it with his. He groaned when he felt just how wet she was, acutely amazed that she could work herself into such a state. She pressed her hips against the thrusts of his hand, leaning back; instinctively, he raised the knee of his good leg, giving her a means of support as she opened herself to him.

It wasn’t long until he was just as excited as she, the head of his erection stirring against her backside. She reached back with the hand that had only just been inside herself, finding him, stroking him, coating him in her warmth. She ran the nail of her thumb along the groove that connected head to shaft, and it was enough to make him arch off the floor under a groan of pure pleasure.

His hands were on her thighs then, adjusting her position again, his actions almost desperate in their intent. “I need to feel you,” he gasped, urging her back only the tiniest of increments. “I need to be inside you.”

She happily complied, guiding him to her entrance and then sheathing him fully, the cradle of her body sinking into his for a moment of sheer, unadulterated bliss. She began to move then, rolling her hips against his in their now-perfected rhythm, and all he could think was – 

– he was _so_ hard, and she felt so good, and he’d missed her so much – 

– it was more than just the way their bodies connected –

– it was _her_ – and _him_ – and the baby inside her belly – 

– the culmination of their love and desire for one another – 

His hand drifted up, finding her clitoris, increasing her pleasure exponentially with each caress. She leaned over him, as much as the baby would allow, and he met her in mid-air for a heart-stopping kiss, pulling and taking and giving so much that all other action ceased for one inexplicable moment; it was just her mouth against his against the rest of the world for the space of a breath – 

– and then she bore down hard with her hips, the muscles across her abdomen rippling under the force of her orgasm, her breath falling short and fast from her chest, her nails digging into his shoulders as she stood her ground. It didn’t take much to push him over the edge; a white hot bolt of need shot through him as he clutched her, holding her in place to empty more of himself inside her.

Together, they spiraled back to earth, panting breathlessly as they held one another. She slid away as he softened, relaxing against him, cradling her body into his as they lay together on the floor near the fire. Dimly, he became aware of the dull ache in his ankle, but he didn’t much care anymore, flush with love and satisfaction.

“I love you,” he whispered, twining a hand through her hair, the words feeling unnecessary in the moment, but important nonetheless. “I’ve always loved you, Sango.”

“I love you, too,” she replied, bringing her lips to his for another kiss. She pulled away, holding his gaze for a solid half minute. “And no matter what happens – please know: I’m happy to be bearing your child.”

He smiled as he felt her torso resting against his, wrapping his arms around her. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
